


Ain't no sun since you've been gone

by fictionalaspect



Category: Bandom, Panic At The Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always the Opposite Sex, Alternate Universe - Canon, F/F, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-31
Updated: 2011-10-31
Packaged: 2017-10-25 03:07:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/271054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionalaspect/pseuds/fictionalaspect
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Hate you," Sarah mumbles when she unlocks the door wrapped in their comforter. She's holding her iPhone in one hand, fingers clenched loosely around the case, the other hand wrapped tightly in the comforter so it doesn't fall down and she doesn't flash the neighbors.</p><p>"I hate me too," Brendon says seriously, and then she's dropping everything on the floor and launching herself at Sarah, twining her arms around her waist, over the mass of blankets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ain't no sun since you've been gone

**Author's Note:**

> So there's this thing where I kind of adore Sarah O., and I want her and Brendon to have like six bazillion tiny dark-eyed Urie-Orzechowski babies and be happy together forever? So obviously I showcase this love by writing porn about them where Brendon's a faily lesbian.
> 
> Thank you to littlemousling for a wonderful beta! <3

Seventeen days and twenty two hours since Brendon's been home, and California looks exactly the same as ever, still damp around the edges, golden and glowing with the promise of sunrise. Spencer's shoulder is warm and familiar-smelling underneath Brendon's cheek, and Spencer himself is unnecessarily awake, humming along to whatever track is playing on his iPod, occasionally stealing Brendon's ear-bud back so he can get the full experience of a chorus.

It's 5:51 in the morning. It's too fucking early for Mother Mother.

 _Ugh_ , Brendon thinks, and makes a gargling noise into Spencer's shoulder, into the damp cloth of his t-shirt that smells of sweat and deodorant and air-conditioned-plane.

Spencer clicks through to another track.

In the front seat of their insanely cliche Zack-approved all-black rented Range Rover—("Sometimes you just have to be a baller, Bren")—Zack is yawning and swearing aimlessly at the traffic in equal measure. Ian is in the front seat, nodding along sagely as Zack demonstrates how, in a perfect world, it would be totally acceptable for him to kill that asshole in the black Porsche Boxter, _just like this_ , knock his head off and get his stupid car off the on-ramp and then maybe they'd be able to make it back to Santa Monica on time. Dallon has spread himself over the second seat, fast asleep, his feet pushing out into thin air. He's wearing one purple sock, and one orange one. Brendon wants to know where he bought the orange pair. She kicks Dallon's toes, instead, a sleepy impulse that brings no response from Dallon other than a muffled snort.

"Leave him alone," Spencer says, pulling the second earbud out and handing it to Brendon. "He has kids. He needs his beauty sleep."

"My ass needs your beauty sleep," Brendon mumbles. She sticks the ear bud in. Now Jack White's voice wails against the thumping of piano keys.

"That doesn't make sense even a little bit," Spencer says.

"Ambien," Brendon says, letting her mouth fall open so she can make a totally stealth patch of Brendon-drool on Spencer's shoulder and see how long it takes him to notice. "I'm still all weird. It's like you're talking to me through cotton. Cotton in my _brain._ "

"Mine wore off a while ago," Spencer says. "Before we landed, even. Oh, hey, speaking of," Spencer says, pulling out his phone. "I have phone signal now, and you're not doing that creepy twitchy-sleepy thing next to me and we're not on a plane."

"Yeah...?" Brendon says, after a moment where Spencer's just scrolling through his phone messages and seems unable to provide any further explanation.

"That," Spencer says, grinning widely as he finds the picture, "is waiting for me at home."

Brendon snaps her eyes shut before she can see what's on the screen.

"Tell me that's not your girlfriend naked," Brendon says, even though she kind of wants to look. Brendon loves Haley and she loves Spencer and Haley as a couple and as her friends and she's really interested in keeping that distance in her brain. If she sees Haley naked that brain picture is going to turn into them fucking, she just _knows_ it will, and there are a lot of things Brendon tries not to think about and Spencer fucking his girlfriend is one of them. That way lies madness, and like, weirdness and having to think about Spencer's weird pasty boy ass and that patch of hair on his lower back.

"It's not Haley naked," Spencer says.

"But it's someone naked," Brendon guesses. Any minute now, Spencer's going to notice her drool spot. Brendon thinks about what she must look like, mouth open, eyes squeezed shut, ratty old hoodie and high tops and two-days worth of tour eyeliner.

"Nope," Spencer says. Brendon cracks one eye open, careful not to look at the screen. "I don't trust you," Brendon says. "It's something gross, isn't it. It's something weird and gross and you're going to give me fucking stupid Ambien nightmares—"

"Are you drooling on me?" Spencer says, frowning, moving his shirt out of the way of Brendon's mouth, and then Brendon loses it, loses her train of thought, loses everything, snickering helplessly.

"Fuck you," Spencer says.

"I love you," Brendon says, pushing her greasy hair out of her eyes. "Now show me your girlfriend naked or some old guy's hairy ass or what-the-fuck-ever you wanted to show me."  
"You ruined the surprise," Spencer says, clicking away. "I'll show you later."

"Dicksmack," Brendon says. "It's something awful, isn't it. Is it hentai? It's always hentai."

"You're just stuck on that picture I found where the girl had like six hundred boobs," Spencer says, jostling Brendon's head a little when he rolls his shoulders out.

"I like boobs," Brendon agrees. "You know who has boobs?"

"Sarah?"

"Yeah," Brendon says wistfully. "Her tits are awesome."

"So I've heard," Spencer says. He stares out the window at the traffic for a moment, rolling his wrists out, a soft crackling of bone and muscle. Brendon watches as he cracks all of his knuckles, one by one, and then Spencer says, "Fuck, I'm bored. This traffic is stupid. You want to sit around and look at boobs together? We can hook up the 3G on Zack's work laptop."

"No," Brendon says. "I want this traffic to go away so we can go back to Santa Monica and I can see my girl and her amazing tits in person."

"Don't we all," Spencer says dryly.

"Don't fucking use my work laptop to look at porn, assholes," Zack calls back, from the front seat. "I can hear you, you know."

—

They're still stuck in traffic an hour later.

"When I get home," Brendon says, squinting against the morning sunlight that's stinging sharp in her eyes, even through the tinted glass. "When I get home I'm going to like. Oh my god, I'm going to take all my clothes off and run around naked and then I'm going to shower, and then I'm going to wake Sarah up and drag her into the shower with me and then we're going to—"

"B, we'll be there in like half an hour," Spencer says, pulling one ear bud out to give Brendon an unimpressed look. "Think you can keep your dick in your pants that long?"

"Nope," Brendon says. "Spencer, my metaphorical dick is huge. Massive. Throbbing. You should know this by now." _My girl_ , Brendon thinks, trying to surprise a shiver of excitement now that she's awake, now that she's up and the sun's up and fuck, she gets to see Sarah in like, _half an hour,_ oh god, and Sarah's going to be all warm and sleepy and real and touchable. Brendon is vibrating. Spencer needs to stop harshing her girlfriend-high.

"Whatever you say, Casanova," Spencer says, rolling his eyes as he puts his earbud back in.

"Oh come on, Spence, don't act like you're not going to go home and—and—have some kind of—okay, wait, don't tell me, _don't fucking tell me_ —" Brendon says, her eyes widening as she suddenly realizes her mistake and Spencer's mouth pulls into a sly, evil grin. "Don't tell me even a little bit, I take that back, I don't want to know what you're going to do with Haley."

"Then stop telling me about how you're going to fuck Sarah in the shower," Spencer says. "Or like. Make sweet tender love to her, whatever, I'm just saying. That was an overshare."

"Your dick's an overshare," Brendon says, slumping back down on Spencer's shoulder. "Are we there yet?"

—

"Action plan time, kids," Zack says, as they're finally, _finally_ oh god finally pulling off the freeway, two hours and six minutes into what should have been a twenty minute drive. "So I'm going to drop Brendon off, and then Spencer, and then we're going to drive over and wake up Dallon and deliver him to his beautiful wife and children, and then Ian and I are going back to Long Beach, and in exactly 23 hours you will all be in LA for the show, so help me god, and then we have publicity in LA, and then the other show, you guys know the drill, and _then_ I drive you all back here again and we're all actuallyoff until we fly to Australia in three weeks."

"Yup," Spencer says, nodding his head, expression unreadable behind his black sunglasses.

"Word," Ian agrees.

"Brendon?" Zack says.

"10-4," Brendon says, stretching out her cramped legs, calves and then ankles and then toes, rolling them around until they feel more like muscles that might work when she steps out of the car and less like jelly. "Roger that, commandant."

"Dallon?" Zack says. There's a long pause. "He's got it," Brendon says, leaning over the back of the first seat to poke Dallon's cheek. He's drooling slightly. "I'll vouch for him."

"Not reassuring in most circumstances, but I'll take it," Zack says. He sounds tired. Brendon can relate. Ambien-plane-sleep isn't anything like real sleep, and Zack didn't even get any of that. He's definitely been up since they left Germany something like twenty-five hours ago.

"Good," Brendon says. "Are we there yet?"

Spencer kicks the back of her knee.

"Ow," Brendon says, turning to frown at Spencer. "Dude."

"Dude," Spencer says.

"Urie, we're like ten blocks from your house," Zack says.

"Mine and Sarah's house," Brendon corrects him, because fuck, they have a house. A condo. A whatever. They have a piece of land that belongs to them and the dogs and Brendon still isn't over that fact, not even a little bit.

"It's a nice house," Ian says, turning to peer at Brendon over the seat. "Did you guys fix up the porch yet?"

"She wanted to wait until I got home," Brendon says. "Apparently she has big porch-related ideas that can only be properly appreciated in person."

"You should put in a Jacuzzi tub," Ian says. "Like Pete's. And then we can all sit around and drink beer in your Jacuzzi."

"Huh," Brendon says, chewing on the inside of her lip. She can't stop tapping her left foot and she doesn't have a whole lot of extra brainpower to spare on thoughts of Jacuzzis right now; she's too wired, too impatient for these last six blocks to melt away under their wheels, but Ian's right. A Jacuzzi would be badass.

Oh man, if Brendon had a Jacuzzi, she and Sarah could totally have sex in it.

"We're here," Zack says, turning onto Brendon's street, and fuck it, whatever, Jacuzzi thoughts will have to wait because Brendon's fumbling on the seat for her messenger bag and her purse and her other backpack, almost out the door before Zack even pulls to a halt. "Pop the back open," Brendon calls out, dumping everything on the sidewalk and pulling the back of the Range Rover open when she hears the click of the electronic lock, grabbing her suitcase and tugging it out on the sidewalk. She darts over to the driver's side and presses a sloppy kiss to the side of Zack's head, for the driving and the staying awake and the not-killing-them, and Zack grimaces and wipes it away.

"You slobbered on me," Zack says, looking unimpressed.

"It's an expression of my undying love," Brendon says. "Thanks for driving. Beer's on me in LA."

"Sweet," Zack says. Brendon knocks on the windows, a quick one-two punch, a goodbye-see-you-in-a-day kind of knock and then Zack pulls away from the curb and Brendon is home.  
Brendon is home.

Brendon is _home._

Oh fuck, Brendon doesn't have her keys.

—

"Hate you," Sarah mumbles when she unlocks the door wrapped in their comforter. She's holding her iPhone in one hand, fingers clenched loosely around the case, the other hand wrapped tightly in the comforter so it doesn't fall down and she doesn't flash the neighbors.

"I hate me too," Brendon says seriously, and then she's dropping everything on the floor and launching herself at Sarah, twining her arms around her waist, over the mass of blankets. Sarah's hair is a tangled mess and she smells like sleep and sweat and Brendon's Old Spice deodorant, because Brendon gave up on useless girl deodorant long ago and now Sarah says she likes the way it smells.

"Missed you," Sarah mumbles, pressing her nose into Brendon's jaw. "Missed you a lot."

"Yeah," Brendon breathes, because damn, truer words were never said. Her hair is tickling Brendon's eyelashes.

"Come back to bed," Sarah says groggily. "Are you like—are you all time-zone confused and super awake? Because right now it's like six in the fucking morning and I went to bed at 3am."

"I don't even know," Brendon says. "I slept on the plane. I just know it's early."

"Come to bed," Sarah says, pressing a sleepy kiss to Brendon's lips. "Sleep now. Doing things later." She shuffles away from Brendon, adorable in her little comforter cocoon, her head peeking out from the top.

Brendon follows.

"Where are the dogs?" Brendon says, once she's sitting down on their bed, kicking off her high-tops and stripping out of her clothes, leaving them in a puddle on the floor.

"Outside," Sarah yawns, rolling over so she can curve herself around Brendon's side. "I let them out before I let you in. They're good for a while."

"Okay," Brendon says. She wants to see her dogs but now she has Sarah curled up against her, real and perfect, and—fuck it. The dogs can wait.

"You're so hot," Brendon blurts out, because this is usually the point in their Brendon-comes-home routine where she's kind of overwhelmed and incapable of filtering and just says stupid things sometimes because she can't believe that Sarah is actually hers, that she gets to come home to this.

"Mmm," Sarah says. She already has her eyes shut, arms snug and possessive around Brendon's waist.

"Like I talk to you every day on Skype but I always forget how hot you are," Brendon says. She thinks, _B, stop talking, she's trying to sleep,_ and then she keeps talking. "Like. Just. Oh my god. You are so hot. Why are you dating me? You're so hot."

"Love you too, babe," Sarah murmurs, a smile curving on her lips. "I'm sleeping. Shut up now, okay?"

"Right," Brendon says. "Okay."

"Close your eyes and count to one hundred," Sarah murmurs. "And then do it backwards. And then we'll wake up later and eat breakfast and then I can show you the pictures the porch company sent."

"Okay," Brendon says. "Can we have sex?"

"Yeah," Sarah murmurs, still grinning. "That too."

"Fuck yeah," Brendon says, squirming some more to get comfortable. Sarah's skin is like six hundred degrees, oh god, it's the best thing in the world right now. Their bedroom is always really cold because Sarah likes sleeping under the covers, even in summer, and the sheets are cool against Brendon's skin but Sarah is like this tiny little space heater of awesome.

"Brendon," Sarah says, after a few minutes where Brendon's still twitchy, still unable to stay still.

"I'm trying," Brendon says. "I'm trying. Wait, can I go down on you? Maybe that will help."

"I guess?" Sarah cracks one eye open and looks at her critically.

"It's a distraction," Brendon explains. "A distraction from how I'm weird and jittery and I can't sleep. Also I just want to go down on you. I've wanted to go down on you for the last three weeks. Obsessively. Spencer might actually kill me if I don't stop talking about it."

"You and Spencer are so weird," Sarah says, her voice muffled in the pillow. "I still think if you're going to tell him every detail of our sex life you should at least let him share about Haley."

"He doesn't want to share," Brendon says. "He wants to ruin me. He wants to ruin my psyche forever with the image of his pasty boy ass having sex."

Sarah rolls her eyes. "I'm sure seeing Spencer naked would not actually be the second coming of the Anti-Christ," she says, and this whole long-running argument is why sometimes Brendon just does not get her girlfriend, because dick is _weird._ Actual dick, anyway. Silicon is much nicer and less bizarre and also usually attached to Sarah, which is a pretty huge selling point.

"Dick is weird," Brendon says, wrinkling up her nose. "Spencer's dick would be weird. Can I go down on you now?"

"Can you stop talking about Spencer's dick?" Sarah says, but she rolls over, settling herself on her back and letting her legs fall open slightly underneath the covers, one knee bent up. She stretches her arms up high above her head, one long, smooth line, and then Brendon can't really take it anymore and dives under the covers because she kind of needs to get her mouth on Sarah _now._

"Oh," Sarah gasps out, one hand sliding down to tangle in Brendon's short hair, tugging in surprise as Brendon entirely ignores the idea of foreplay and licks a slow, hot stripe between Sarah's legs. " _Damn_."

"Mmmfphg," Brendon says, which is sort of funny, honestly, and part of her over-tired ping-pong ball of a brain wants to make some kind of carpet-munching joke but most of her is just really overwhelmed with how Sarah is soft and slick and smooth under her tongue, and she tastes good and she smells good and Brendon wants to stay here _forever_.

She settles in, kicking the comforter down and wiggling her hips a little in excitement.

Sarah snickers.

"You look just like Penny right now," Sarah snickers, one hand carding through Brendon's hair, pushing her hips up to meet Brendon's mouth. Brendon ignores her, because she's really busy exploring Sarah's clitoris and all the things that may have happened to it since Brendon left, all the ways it's even more pink and perfect than the last time Brendon saw it. They're bonding.

Brendon wiggles her ass again.

"Seriously," Sarah says, shifting her hips so she can stretch one leg out farther and curl her toes. "You look exactly the same as she does when she's all wound up. You're not going to start barking, are you?"

Brendon rolls her eyes and pulls back, just a little. Her chin feels wet, and she wipes it on Sarah's thigh. Sarah shivers.

"Stop talking about the dog," Brendon says. "Like, for real. I love you, but stop talking about the dog while I'm eating you out."

"Do a better job and maybe I will," Sarah says, with a sly grin, and oh, that's a fucking challenge, and Brendon does not back down from a challenge. She is not capable of backing down from a challenge. Especially when it involves getting Sarah off. She reaches out for the bedside table, questioning, but Sarah shakes her head.

"No toys," Sarah says, grinning a secret sort of grin. "Just you."

"Done," Brendon says, smoothing her palms down Sarah's thigh, tracing her thumbs along the sides of her labia. She can spread Sarah open this way, really look at her. Brendon doesn't think she'll ever get tired of looking. Or tasting, for that matter. She licks another long, slow stripe, the kind that always makes Sarah's legs shake, and then she closes her lips around Sarah's clit and sucks, pillowing her tongue so that it's nothing but warm, thick pressure.

"Fuck," Sarah whispers, the hand in Brendon's hair tightening encouragingly. "Fuck, okay, yeah. Yeah, like that." She's so warm under Brendon's mouth, warm and wet, and Brendon knows her face is already soaked. Brendon should have gone and gotten a towel, because otherwise they're going to end up with a huge wet spot, but she can't be bothered. It's far more important to sit back up on her heels and catch her breath for a moment, to lean down over Sarah and kiss her while Brendon carefully opens her up and slides two fingers in.

"Shit," Sarah sighs, into Brendon's mouth. "Fuck, I missed your hands."

"I missed _you_ ," Brendon tells her, and she doesn't think she'll ever really be able to put into words what that ache feels like, the ache of wanting Sarah so close and not being able to see her and touch her and hold her.

"I know, baby," Sarah says, and she's leaning up to kiss Brendon again, mouth soft and hands suddenly desperate against Brendon's skin. Brendon knows that Sarah's tougher than she is; she's learned to cover up the places that she's raw and she doesn't give away anything easily. It's just they've been doing this long enough that Brendon isn't hurt by it anymore, because she knows those clenched hands and soft kisses mean _Fuck, Brendon, me too. I missed you so much that sometimes I couldn't breathe._

"You want it slow?" Brendon says quietly, into the centimeters of air between their mouths. The morning sun is peeking through the edges of the curtains, creating three angled boxes filled with light. "Or rough?"

"Rough," Sarah says quietly, and then Brendon is pressing up, quick, pointed thrusts, just on this side of too much. The effect is electric; she can feel Sarah fluttering, all the way inside, and there's a rush of heat and wetness dripping down between her fingers, and Sarah herself is tipping her head back, bracing herself on her crooked elbows and panting as she rides Brendon's hand.

"More?" Brendon says, and Sarah nods helplessly, biting down on her bottom lip so hard that it flushes white. Brendon ducks her head down, licking over her quick and rough before settling in to suck on her clit, to point her tongue and press in and up and set up that perfect counterpoint between her hands and her mouth. It's all just a syncopation, a deferred beat, and once Brendon had figured that out the rest had sort of just fallen into place, easy like the sun.

"Oh, fuck, _there_ ," Sarah whines out, and her legs are locked around Brendon's ears, one hand in Brendon's hair. She's flushed and desperate, her skin damp with sweat, and Brendon wants to climb inside the moment and never come out again.

"Come on," Brendon murmurs, helpless, pushing and pushing, crooking her fingers and clawing her nails and trying for everything, everything that going to make this for Sarah. "Come on, that's it, you're so close, come on baby, just, just—"

Sarah sucks in air through her teeth, one last gasp, and then Brendon feels the way her legs shake, the way she's fluttering inside and out, clenching down on Brendon's fingers with a rush of hot liquid, another gasp, and it's 7:18 in the morning and Brendon thinks that no one else in the history of the world has ever seen quite this much beauty on the tail end of an insomnia bender and lived to tell the tale.

"Hi," Sarah says softly, when it's over. She looks down at Brendon, and Brendon looks up, the curve of Sarah's nose hidden by perspective from the swells of her stomach and breast.

"Hi," Brendon says, reaching up to curl her fingers into Sarah's. Her face is sharp and aching from the force of her grin. "Hi, honey. I'm home." 


End file.
